Eyes of the Ancients
by Taridir
Summary: This is the story Long before Spyro- of the Rise of Malefor, of the Dragon-Ape Wars, and of the Guardian's Childhood. Will Ignitus get over his Fear of Heights? Can Malefor rise to his destiny? How about Cyril's brainfreeze? Or will Volteer blow them up?
1. Prolouge: Assurance

Prologue: Assurance

Memory is a bizarre thing-- and seldom is it accurate. One chooses to remember things in a certain way based on emotion and circumstance, and as time goes by, the memory looses truth and gains bias. So it is that when a grudge exists for a time, there comes a point when neither side even remembers _why_ it exists, only that it does.

This was the case with the Dragons and the apes-- for nearly one thousand years, the apes and the dragons had skirmished and, on no less than six occasions, openly declared war, until both were crippled beyond belief- dragon populations plummeted- The ape's life expectancy dropped from 58 to 25. Ape women cried, Dragons roared and shook the earth, young creatures swore vengeance, and ancient grudge broke into war, and whenever negotiations occurred, they often turned to bloodshed- for neither side could reach an agreement of how the war started. Apes maintained that a reckless red drake had slaughtered an entire ape family, whose friends had logically slain the creature, and retaliation went forth. The dragons, enraged at a threat to their reputation, had proceeded to say that the apes had murdered a dragon hatchling, and that the dragons retaliated. An entire battle was fought over the question: Who started it? Now, even the dragon elders were too young to remember why the wars existed- all save one, possibly two. Neither were talking. One was named Demmia- an undersized earth dragon of incredible wisdom and power of 1015 years of age. And, while almost every dragon alive had pushed her for details, the stoic old earth guardian had told none, save perhaps Terrador- her recklessly brave, incredibly gung-ho grandson. This was pure speculation- It may have just been maturity on Terrador's part. For twenty three years, Terrador had hated the apes with a passion, and openly sought to slay them- all until a few years ago, when Terrador had been taken aside by the aging earth guardian, and come back subdued, never the same; now a stoic shield instead of a flaming blade.

The other dragon few were sure even existed- save again for one, Demmia- who had gone looking for the mysterious Chronicler one day, and come back four months later with an enormous scar and a terrible cold( Which, from a Dragon, means loss of breath control, which means utter devastation. An entire temple room had been demolished by the earth dragoness's "Coughing.")

Again, she was not talking. Demmia was the quiet, secretive type that hid many secrets and gave many. She also was the most curious, yet the most reserved. Seldom ever did she speak. It took much to open her mouth.

Gyicil, the Ice Guardian, and leader of the Dojo, the Duke of Warfang- (The Head Elder's brother) was not the quiet type- but was, in no uncertain terms, cruel and cold. And perhaps bitter- he resented the Head Elder, his younger brother, for stealing his presumed glory- and took out his bitterness on everyone else with snide, cruel comments. However, he was a walking wall, and Ancestors help anyone that got in his way. A giant of a dragon, and handsome, he sneered down at everyone else- save Terrador, who was as tall as him, and considerably stronger. Gyicil was, however, possibly the greatest master of Ice and Tactics on the face of the earth, and so he was allotted a slot. He could also be sweet and impressive, like poisoned honey, if he wanted to. Gyicil stood in front of the other Guardians in his accustomed place: Seven feet in front and in the center. Out in front of the rest of them. The first to speak. "Purple?" he said silkily, nudging the violet egg with his snout carefully, pupil less, gray eyes surveying its flawless surface., as though trying to diagnose a problem or defect. Seeming to find none, he turned his roughly triangular head towards the dragon's mother, a timid, thin-looking gray drake with a red underbelly and ram horns. "When did it turn this color?" The female kept her eyes low, upon her egg, fearing for it's fate. "It didn't... It was laid Purple." "Indeed?" Said Gyicil, cocking an eyebrow. "I would have thought this the result of a Fire Egg given improper heating, but....You are a wind dragon. The Father is a fire dragon, I take it?" The female shook her head. "No-- His father is an Ice Dragon--" Gyicil cleared his throat. "Ah. Say no more. Is his name, by chance, Cyrocil?" The female nodded. "Indeed? Thus we have our informant. Did I not say he told us true?" The other Guardians and Masters murmured general consent, as did Terrador, who accompanied the aged Demmia everywhere, doing work she was now too weak to do. Gyicil surveyed his "Colleagues", who sat in a half circle: Ingvar, the Lightning Wyrm, who was not only a teacher but a grand lover of mazes and mathematics, a precise and methodical master who improved techniques slowly and by the book. He was sinewy, and old, though nothing on Demmia. Ingvar had a long, bottlenose snout, with small teeth and a prognanthus jaw, with small paws and normal musculature, if a bit meek in places- he didn't get out much, and his wings were thin, accordingly, and in any case, they were small anyway. His eyes were not quite golden, but dull goldenrod, and his tail had a barb that looked like it could conduct electricity-- and it could-- provided Ingvar indulged in Lodestone and green gems. Lodestone was about as healthy as milk Chocolate smothered in butter and melted in olive oil to a dragon, but tasted better than any dessert item available, and so it was Ingvar's guilty pleasure- and often left him ecstatic and cheerful. Xelia, the wind dragon next to him, and Insane tinkerer who wrote the books instead of going by them, sporting her usual injuries and burns as a result of "experiments"-- Xelia was an avid trial-and-error scientist- and at the moment, swollen with eggs. Next to her stood Demmia and Terrador. Terrador in his prime was an enormous dragon, whose bright green scales shimmered like emeralds (as a matter of fact, one ape that had survived Terrador had sold one of his scales for a small fortune). Muscles, veined and corded, bulged, and looked too big for his coat, and wide, muscular wings suggested frequent flight. Rams horns curled down, and thorns sprouted wherever he walked- (Although, whenever long-tailed females were around, these became roses.), and the earth shook beneath his gigantic feet. Terrador had trouble entering _dragon_ establishments, and, even inside a Warfang home, looked too big to be allowed.

In conversation with him was an average looking, ram-horned red dragon, who had no trace of orange whatsoever in him-- he was a rare mutant- a Fire dragon born to eight generations of Earth Dragons- and so he kept the ram horns. His amazed father had accidentally named him Red in astonishment. It stuck in Red's mind. "_Red?!"_ He was conversing rapidly with Terrador, presumably on food- Red was an avid cook- and had a little more humor than the no nonsense, hard-bent Terrador. The Venomspitter stood a few feet away from them- a silent, serpentine, masked and deformed green, a medical genius- a Venom Mastered Dragon.

Gyicil noted each, and then beckoned Red Forward. Red walked on the balls of his feet, bouncing towards the scene.

Gyicil nodded. "Examine the egg, red. Does it not resemble a fire egg?" Red shifted his horned head, furrowing his brow ridge. He examined it, closing eyes alternatively, and touched it with his tongue, curiously. He tapped it with a claw, and breathed a fume of smoke on it. The egg's color remained iridescent. "It is not, though it does semble it. Fire eggs aren't this thick. It's too thick-- Fire dragons lack egg teeth." Red shifted his long neck, and tapped the egg, and then breathed a low, red flame on it. The Egg remained opaque. "This is not a fire egg....Nor is it, I believe, an Earth Egg...Too Dome Shaped." Red shifted his head. "I know little of Ice Eggs, but this is absolutely absurd." Gyicil nodded cruelly. "Ice is an ability too homogenous and recessive. It is only present in the line of Friocii, the Frost King, of which Cyrocil is shallow. Frost will not hold in the wake of Wind or Fire. Perhaps Electricity, or maybe a dragon of Frost Ancestry. The Female has not this blood. Therefore, the egg cannot be an Ice Dragon. So, by process of elimination, it is either a Wind Dragon or an Electric Dragon." Gyicil turned to Xelia. "Xelia, which of the two is it?" Xelia clambered on over, heavy with eggs. She looked at it for three minutes.

"Neither." she answered, nodding. "Wind Eggs are Patterned, and very thin, and not nearly as conical as this egg. Electricity eggs glow in the dark- yet--" She breathed a cloud of wind onto the egg( The mother nearly fainted). "No glow." Gyicil examined the egg thoughtfully. Terrador spoke up. "Perhaps," he rumbled. "It is another Venomspitter?" Everyone looked at the Sickly Lime, masked, ugly drake. "Perhaps." Said the Venomspitter. "I doubt it." he then did not speak-- His voice was alarming, a croak, as though he could hardly speak. Gyicil looked at the egg. "This egg holds elements of all castes," he said, curiously. Red spoke up. "It is interesting," he said. "A sort of phenomena-- eh? I do believe this is a unique dragon." Red looked at it, curiously. Xelia, the ever experimentalist, spoke up. " I do suggest that we let it hatch before making such conclusions!" she said. "After all, It could simply be a malformed egg! It's most likely that it will come out a shade of gray or blue, after all, a Wind Dragon of common power?" Several dragons murmured agreement, including Gyicil, relieved. Red seemed unconvinced. The Venomspitter was silent, as was Demmia, who eyed the egg with gray eyes nonstop. Terrador openly snorted disbelief.

It was a fateful day- one of the rare times Xelia was dead wrong.

It was also a fateful day on the other side of the world, in the mountains, when storms and rain clouded and cleared miraculously as one little Ape roared he wished he wasn't wet. Apes in the village dropped their jaws as the little Ape toddler stopped the storm: The third ape in history born with magic. His Name was "Gall" for his Gall to challenge the gods. He would later change its spelling.

And in deep, deep dark temples, word of the boy spread to the Ape King-- Zharg- by a tall, thin ape, covered in a dark, red cloak.

"Then get the crystals. The Night Approaches."

The Ape Sorcerer smiled wickedly. The Ape's victory was assured.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Shooting Stars

Rip. Tear. Bite. Chew. Salty, bloody meat was vacuumed down the two hungry dragon's throats at an alarming rate- it seemed almost magical- so that soon, the deer that could feed an entire family was stripped two the bone by the two youths. The Small, sinewy, boyish yellow, and the large, skinny purple. Xelia stood, astonished, and slightly disgusted, at the two youths. "Volteer, manners!" She admonished her hatchling. Volteer looked up, his cheeks stuffed with meat, then gave a huge gulp, and said, " I apologize dear mother, I have been premeditating fasting yet my voracious ravenous hunger for comestibles of any sort renders it useless, yet there is pain in my legs!" Malefor, who's vocabulary was not as colorful- and who's manners were rather better, nodded, his mouth full and strained. Xelia shook her huge, gray head. They were growing dragons- growing _male_ dragons- which alarmed her. Not only could they keep shooting elements without fizzling, they ate _constantly_, and, ancestors be merciful! Pretty soon they could fly _with no effort whatsoever_, and faster than ever- not to mention gawking at every long tailed and sharp-faced female they saw. Still, Volteer had a long, _long_ way to go, and, unlike the apes, who had a single puberty, Dragons had four- and they couldn't mate until the second. But it made hunting _murder_, not to mention their recklessness. Volteer had twice demolished his cave, caused seven mountain rockslides, a thunderstorm, and two avalanches. Volteer could hold a jet of lightning for nine minutes straight- a dojo record- and could talk for 60 times that without breathing. Still, Xelia reminded herself- she had always been an experimentalist too. Malefor, the Purple, on the other hand, was much, much calmer, more reasonable, and much quicker to maturity. She eyed the purple with concern. He had amazed her in his wind training-- not to mention his fire and ice-- well, not Ice. Malefor was stuck on Ice. It gave him brain freeze whenever he shot a stream. But, as Volteer said, it was funny as _core._ Xelia eyed the Purple dragon, sitting at the table, conversing with Volteer about Lightning.

"Are you _mad_?" said Malefor, eyes popping, and tail twitching. "Circular breathing?! You'll char yourself!"

"Not necessarily, all I must do is simply separate my mandibular passageways from my nasal snout, thus breathing in the air and firing out the lightning!", replied Volteer. Xelia groaned- she smelled a visit to the Surgeons.

"You'll electrocute yourself, Volteer- that's anatomically Impossible, for one, and for two, you'll be stuck breathing in your own lightning!"

"Impossible? How is it impossible? Nothing is truly impossible. Fifteen years ago, we all knew it was impossible for a dragon to exhale multiple elemental ventilation. Then an violently violet overhorned dragon named Malefor was born.", said Volteer, nodding his head serenely.

Malefor was unimpressed. "Overhorned, Am I?" he said, mock-lowering it threateningly. Malefor fell over, smashing into the ground, and growled. Volteer snickered. "Yes, you are!" Malefor muttered something very obscene. Xelia even chuckled a little, watching the two boys, She snaked her head in between them, crouching slightly to lean in. "Alright, are we, my hatchlings?" she said, amiably. Volteer was almost in hysterics. Malefor frowned. "Oh, don't be like that Malefor-- you'll be a right shot at Charge-Putting!" said Xelia, hopefully. Malefor's expression went from embarrassed anger to blank confusion, and, subconsciously, Xelia felt a little hurt: This was ramming it in her face that she _was_ getting old-- her scales _were_ loosing luster. She was still the youngest guardian by a margin of twenty eight years- Red was that much older than she- and Being around Demmia constantly, she was always reminded how much longer she could go- But Demmia was rare-- One of few dragons who pass through convexity- lengthening her life. Xelia was now 73 years old - starting to get on in years, loosing scale luster-- and her final growth stage was complete a long time ago. Just long enough that _she _ didn't remember the agonizing hunger. "It's a sport- a sport where you hit dummies as far as you can with your horns," said Xelia, uncertainly. "Never heard of it." said Malefor. "Incidentally, I've been meaning to ask you, Master-" Xelia groaned internally. 'Master' meant homework help. "I've been stuck on the Twister, Ma'am. How do you not get dizzy?" Xelia laughed. " I close my eyes. You have to _smell_ where you're going. Only, don't try it in your cave _again_, for Ancestor's smiles!" Volteer grinned.  
"Oh, no, I'm just going to teach him a _shocker._" Nobody laughed. Malefor glared, smoke rising from his nostrils. " I. Hate. Puns." Volteer, catching his blunder, looked up at his mother. "Is there any more?" Xelia started. "No- No- Not for you, at any rate, no, don't give me that! Nora needs to eat!" Nora, Volteer's little sister, was a small hatchling of 2 years of age that still had trouble pronouncing the older dragon's names right: She knew them as "Mama","Voltii", and "Molly" Respectively. Needless to say, Malefor hated her guts. Volteer adored her. "Well, Volteer, we're going hunting, then. " Said Malefor, plaintively. Xelia looked dumbfounded. "Now?! You two have just eaten an entire deer!" Volteer nodded. "We'll be back once we've comested approximatley six additional Cervidaeous Ruminantia." Upon which Malefor and Volteer flapped their wings, rose up twelve feet, banged the ceiling, sank eight feet, and soared out the cave. Malefor knocked down a stalactite unintentionally.

Malefor was ahead of Volteer.

"Whatcha want, Volteer?!," Shouted Malefor, ahead as usual.

Volteer considered. "Well, good friend, bosom compatriot, we've not dessert."

Volteer was struggling to stay airborne-- unlike Malefor, he resembled a hatchling still, and had trouble flying. So did Malefor, although he'd never admit it. Malefor turned his head around towards Volteer, overbalancing and barrel-rolling due to his horns. He added swearing to the mix, fuming smoke. "I'm in the mood for soup," said Malefor. Volteer looked down, and plummeted three feet. "Well, there's mushrooms, ummmm, granite, er, maybe gems, er, mushrooms, fungi, er, dragonflies, um, butterflies, and, um, fungi, and, um, er, let's see, Frogs."

"So Steak is out of the question." said Malefor, ruefully. Malefor had a taste for meat that alarmed most, even Volteer.

"Well, We ought to get started, Malefor. I say we ought to level a few Mushrooms, first, oughten't we?",said Volteer.  
Malefor agreed. "Take hold of me!" The two dragons grabbed all four claws, and angled downward, heads "Up", wings tapered, streatched back. They shot like bullets toward the groung, spiraling hundreds of feet, eyes shut.....and, thirty feet from the ground- BANG! It exploded: Two simultaneous, corkscrewing furies hit the ground with the force of a small bomb: It was literally a Thunderstorm and a small tornado on the ground: Volteer's lightning fried the wildlife, while Malefor's winds knocked over trees. Any fires were extinguished by the gale, and when it was over, everything within a 20 foot radius was devastated, and a huge crater was in the ground. Malefor was exhausted. Volteer was on the ground, rolling over, walking drunkely around. "OoooOOOooOOOOOooo..." came from his mouth.

Malefor rolled his eyes. "Volteer. Let's never do that again." Volteer nodded. "Terminal velocity being achieved thusfar, we miscalculated that our current descent speed at the point of activation would coincide coincidentally to be the same exact speed the whole way through." Nodded Volteer. Malefor didn't have a clue what Volteer Ment, but he now had a good idea what being a meteor felt like.

"Okay, let me fill this up, and we'll have mushroom soup." Said Malefor.

Volteer swayed, and fell, mumbling feebly.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Thanks for actually taking time out of your day to review, to all who have! **

**Also, Cyril uses mild language in this chapter. This is because I still haven't thought of enough dragon "Language" to make a running gag of it, so, I'll keep it here until I think of one, then edit it out. Or keep it, whichever.**

Fight Then Flight

Terrador sat, utterly bored, surveying Gyicil in his Element: Not Ice. Rambling, Long Winded Speeches about Apes. Terrador felt as though a manweersmall was burrowing through his ear, and was struggling to pay attention: Gyicil was the head of the dojo. It was an honor to be here- especially as he wasn't a guardian. But the way this was shaping up, Terrador was thinking he'd have to kiss an ape. That would get him out of these pointless meetings. Terrador could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"And none shall come after. The Apes are certainly on the move, creating an offensive of some kind- a small, but well organized attack. The apes have been less scattered as of late, and entire villages are vanishing off the map. This can only mean that they are rallying their entire race for a full-scale assault on this temple. They know full well where it is."

"Who the hell doesn't?" Hissed a voice behind Terrador. He looked around, and saw a tall, unhealthily thin blue dragon, with long, erect horns, hissing into the ear of a bony, slightly muscular, shortish red teen. The Dragon's Wings were especially thin, as if from lack of use, and very long. Ignitus snorted, and put a paw over his nose to cover the smoke. Cyril rolled his eyes at his father, and muttered, "Warmblood." Ignitus looked incredulously delighted. Terrador inwardly wondered how a dragon of such high birth would dare use such insults. Cyril smirked, unabashed.

Terrador was relieved to hear the dragons talking- a rare occurrence. It is very rude, thought Terrador, that, when ones so young are given such an honor, to besmirch it in such a way. But, true though that may be, it is quite a bit better than whatever the Duke has to say. Or is he a Baron? Who cares, besides he himself? Terrador was beginning to get very, very hungry, and wondered when he would get back to his boulder dragging, and then dismissing the thought, ashamed, and trying to listen to Gyicil.

"Breeches into the Isles have increased within the last sixteen moons. It is apparent that the apes seem to be scouting for something; they come through the gates, eying them. They also seem to be withdrawing into caves, and, most ominously, seem to have increased dramatically in numbers. Ambassador, what are your thoughts on this matter?"

Terrador shifted his thin attention to the Ambassador of Warfang, another Ice Dragon. Vain, this dragon, unlike Gyicil and Cyril, had a right. He was the Dragonkings' Nephew; he actually _had_ the connections that Cyril, even so early, frequently boasted. Harikk looked more like Cyril than Gyicil; he was tall, sinuous, and straight-horned. He spoke, " Hrmm. The Avalarians report no unusual activity on the behalf of these apes. However, they have little knowledge of such things. What is more pressing is the new threat; these, Grubblins, that is what the Avalarians have named them, they seem to be of a new blood, neither warm like the apes nor firewarmed like ours; theirs is blue. They are monstrous, they are, and other monstrosities are being spawned in troves. I think the best course of action is to determine what is going on behind that."

Ingvar spoke up, ozone crackling around him in fury. "Warfang is impenetrable, _my liege_. You have to get past cannon fire, DRAGON fire, regular fire, arrows, ballistae, and the gates. If they get past that, the door can be shut. The Walls of Warfang are nearly three yards thick, not to mention how High it is. You would need siege towers, no, more than that, more than even the tallest siege tower. What have we here, at this Dojo, that anyone could not get through? Statues on switches, puzzles, and a few flame doors? Anyone with fire and a little wit could penetrate this temple!"

Terrador shifted, and spoke out loud in his commanding, basso voice. "Ingvar, friend, are you suggesting that an ape has the intellect required to--" Ignitus spoke, in a timid voice. "Terrador, the--the apes- well- they managed to survive this long....They're not exactly...." his voice vanished, and he hid behind his wings. Xelia spoke, soothingly.

"That is true, young dragon. We can't deny that one."

The Ambassador scoffed. "Boy, I once met an ape commando that tried to smuggle himself into Warfang dressed as a _faun_ with a _mask made of six leaves._ Somehow I doubt their intellectual capabilities. This Dojo is not our main conce--"

Gyicil's cold manner cracked. "_There are hatchlings in this temple! There are no hatchlings in Warfang!"_ he spat.

The Council stared for a second. Silently.

"It is still not our primary concern," said the ambassador, shaken.

"Bah," spat a rumbling voice. "We should smash the lot of these eightyears!" Everyone stared at the source of the worst insult a dragon parent could receive: mating before the tenth year, before the year of the dragon. Eight was also said to be the number of Golems in the world; so it was said to be a cursed number. The source was Chief Gharanus, Leader of the Wild Dragons. He was enormous; the only dragon in the room that could match him was Terrador. But he was older- And all the scars....

"They are nothing more than cheap lunches for Drakes!" proclaimed the dragon.

Red looked up at the Wild Dragon, disgusted. "Such notions are preposterous; You hold your tongue! Honestly. Fire and Ice are no different!" Said Red, dispassionately. Cyril blanched at the perceived insult!

"The Eightye-" Ignitus hit him. "Shut up! He was insulting _us_!"

Gharanus spat flame in a shattering roar. "You transgress your own kind? Your Own People, _Rojazuk_?"

Red Glared at Gharanus in a violent stare. They looked at each other for ten seconds. Then Red launched himself at Gharanus, and vice versa. The two clawed at each other in violent combat.

In a Second, The Earth Guardian, Terrador's mentor Roared in a vast roar, beyond the sounds the Earth could take. The entire room shook, and cracked, and She ran, boulders falling from nowhere, and shoved Red into the wall. She yelled at him, in a voice that shook Cyril and Ignitus, still bickering, and gambling over who would win (Cyril was betting against Red). "WHAT THE CORE WAS THAT? YOU RENOUNCED THIS!" She then seemed to diminish. "Red. You are above this..." She walked away. Gharanus looked up at Red. "A true dragon would not allow these scum to proliferate, _uncle._" And he walked out of the meeting.

Ignitus stared at Cyril, lost for words.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

First Flight

Ignitus roared, shooting a fire bomb from his mouth. His target dodged so fast he was only a blurr of purple. Malefor's retaliation came as a jolt of lightning that hit Ignitus squarley in the face. It hurt. Ignitus shifted his fangs, and charged up to his target, and fired a blast in Malefor's Face. "Cheater," he spat. Malefor smirked. " I prefer Opportunist." Before he lowered his head and charged at Ignitus. Ignitus barrel rolled, and cuffed Malefor with his wing. Malefor hit the wall with a crunch. Ignitus shuddered at the pain that would've caused had it hit. Ignitus wasn't fighting full force; Malefor was actually trying to _Kill _him. No, he's not, thought Ignitus. Malefor spun around, and shot six blasts of flame at Ignitus, who dodged, zigzagging ever closer to Malefor, and flamed him in the face, before horn diving him. He then got all of Malefor's horned head in his stomache. He retaliated, slapping Malefor back with his tail. Malefor Bit it. Ignitus swung around and clawed him, before spinning from five feet in the air. Malefor joined him up there, and slashed at him. Ignitus horned him. Malefor ran back to Ignitus, and hit him in the stomache, up into the air. Ignitus quailed. He was terrified of heights. Panicing, he turned down, and hit got hit again. Ignitus let fly, and burned Malefor. Malefor, seemingly oblivious, ran through the flames. _He's like a demon!_ thought Ignitus. Malefor tried to pick up Ignitus, but for all his strength, Ignitus weighed a good eighty pounds more than Malefor, and retaliated by rolling over and sitting on him. He slammed a wing against Malefor's mouth. He went still.

He let Malefor up, who was shaking. "Nitus, you monkey, you coulda-" Malefor looked at the circle of eight dragons, nine, counting the massive Red. Red was thundering with laughter. "Good show, lads! Oh, nice win, Ignitus, oh, don't look that way, Malefor! You've no shame in loosing to Ignitus here, heck, all the others got smashed at least six minutes before you gave! Nitus...A moment?"

Ignitus strode off, limping slightly, to speak with Red in a hushed voice. Malefor was burning.

It wasn't his fault. There was a moment. A moment, when he could have had the orange whelp, the snake; he could have frozen the git in his tracks, or put out the eye-

_Cheater_.

That would rob him of honor. No, it wouldn't! He was given this advantage, this power, power; limits he'd never found; only artificial barriers; rules...if he had dispensed with them-

_Then I'd have won. NO! I'd have won by cheating..._

Malefor stared at his feet, ashamed, but still....bitter? Feeling regret that he hadn't shot an Ice Spike in his friend's eye? Killed his Rival?

_Ignitus was holding back too..._ NO! Am I a monster?

Malefor got playful cuffs from his friends as he strode away to be alone. He Ignored them all.

Red was standing, his tail around Ignitus, a show of great affection.

"That was extremely wll done, Ignitus. You kept a level head;and you emerged victorious by a hair."

Ignitus looked up, sheepishly. "Thank you, Master Red."

Red looked down, like a father to a hatchling. "You need not thank me for stating truths. Elseways I would be more inclined to lie, and say that you could not have done better. You seemed...Reluctant to utilize fire." Ignitus looked up at Red.

"I didn't really want to hurt him, sir. And I still won. Neither of us is hurt."

Red looked carefully at Ignitus's face. "I wouldn't say that. You have a tenacity and determination that surpasses anyone I've ever seen, and a potential to match them- Yes, even Against the Purple Dragon." said Red. "He hit you in the face pretty hard. I half expected another fury after that one." Ignitus grinned, childishly, like a hatchling caught with diamonds. "No, I won't be destroying any more artwork." Said Ignitus. Three years ago, Ignitus had gotten into an arguement with Cyril, and accidentally destroyed the entire sculpture wing with his second fury. Red had been laughing about it ever since. " I wouldn't have held back. You probably could've trounced him in two minutes full force." Ignitus's grin faded. "If he wasn't going full force."

Red snaked his head down to Ignitus's. "Also, Your...reluctance to get into the air. To become a true master of fire, we must master fear, master restraint. Both are essential, for without them we are no more than the apes. But with them rampant and unmastered, we shake away from our true power. This Power cannot be inhibited. Not for any dragon who will become Guardian of Fire."

Ignitus fell over in shock, then did a double take. Then started. Then dropped his jaw. He shook his head, uncertain as to his hearing. Red cocked his head. "Y'know, That display isn't nearly as funny as mine was. I fell out of a window. Fell twenty eight feet before I started flapping."  
Red noticed the fear contract in his eyes. "Now, My apprentace, We've got to get that fear of flying gone. I'll talk with Xelia's son. I don't know his name, It's something like Boltir. He's a lightning, like his dad. He's excellent at flying. Smart too, I hear." Ingitus found his voice. He wanted to thank him, but he couldn't enough. Instead, he said, " I won't let you down, Master." Red chuckled. "Nitus, No one could let _me_ down, now." he said, venom in his voice. Ignitus blanched at the change. It was ugly, and low, and dark. Ignitus answered," After Last Night? You _are _ a true dragon, nothing that savage said meant anything! You're not like him, you're not a--" He tried to find the word. "Rojazuk?" Red stiffened, then said, in a quiet, bitter voice, "I'm his uncle. That tribe's my family. Rojazuk is my name. It means "Red" so everyone calls me that."

Ignitus nodded, thinking that another revalation tonight would kill him.

*******************************************

Ignitus woke bright and early next day and hurried to where he was set to meet Xelia's son- as Red had introduced him "Boltir". But, Ignitus doubted that this was actually his name- Red was exceptionally bad at remembering names; he instead relied heavily on pet names and titles. He only really knew the names od Ignitus and Malefor; who he generally refered to as "Nitus" and "Wrecking Ram". His other students were named "Finny, Sparky, Smoky, Twiggy, and Conehorn". So it was not entirely illogical that this "Boltir's" name was actually something in the realm of Jenopiskus. He strode out of the grotto he'd claimed as his own; Nitus was of an age when dragon hatchlings moved out from their hatchling homes- Ignitus was twenty- and walked, with a certain aspect of quickness, towards the Dojo.

He came past the four dragon statues, and breathed a large jet of flame onto the door, and then walked through, purposefully. He strode past, down the hallway, admiring the stained glass that the moles, and the dragons, had crafted together, looking at the pink-purple streaks of the sky, indulgently peeking through the halls, shining on the vines and figures. Ignitus strode into the circular, high chamber, and saw, sure enough, a very, very small shape.

He fully believed that this dragon could be no older than ten, if even. He was thin, and sinewy, and was currently curled into a sort of ball. He had unnaturally long wings, folded over his body, which was about half their length. He was a shad of bright yellow, with a storm grey line of spikes down his back, and short, inverted h orns sprouting from his head. Red had to be joking. This was, to him, a baby! This was the flight prodigy? Ignitus shook his head. He knew that he was about to die.

He walked up to the hatchling. "Morning." He said, rather stiffly. The Dragon spun around, radiating joy. "Oh, it is, it is, isn't it, pinks tripes and blue clouds, an effect owed to the refraction of the rising sun would certainally indicate that it is indeed morning!" Ignitus almost fell over in surprise: The Dragon's voice was deeper than his; fully changed already, and spoke unnaturally fast. He had to revise his opinion; the dragon was at least twelve.

"I do say, It is a pleasure, Master Red said he would send along his apprentace, he did. Of course he did, yes; Who are you? He didn't say a name, just said it was very importaint. In fact, I imagined you bigger; much bigger." _You're one to talk_. Thought Ignitus. He was approximatley a foot taller than the yellow hatchling, and three longer.

"Ignitus." he said, rather hardly.

"Volteer, that's my name, and I must say It's very good to meet Ignitus- The Ignitus Malefor keeps aping on about, yes? Oh, the walking battering ram set his cave on fire again-" "You live with Malefor?" Said Ignitus, taken aback. Volteer continued, as if nothing had interrupted. _Ancients, does he ever shut up?_ wondered Ignitus. "No, Malefor lives with us; see, he has no where else to live, really, or so they say. I say it's because he still can't master wind. Funny; Master Can't Master Wind."

Ignitus quirked a brow. "Malefor means master, of course- " Ignitus raised his voice. "So, I heard that you were an expert flier," He said, trying to get Volteer to at least adknowlage him. He had a feeling he was going to bite his neck if this kept up. It didn't.

"Positively, Definitivley, or is it definately, oh, core to it, I say, Well, Myself I am currently in posession of sixteen records, in additon to..."

On and on it went, Ignitus thought, as they stood there. Half the time Ignitus just shook his head, or nodded, wondering how Volteer managed to breathe while constantly exhaling.

Roughly fourty minutes later, Volteer said, "And, that beign said, shall we off to the perches?"

Volteer hopped into the air, hovering in circles around Ignitus, frequently asking why he wouldn't come up with him.

_Because not all of us are thick enough to ignore the irrationallity of a ton of muscle in the air borne by sixteen pound wings, which, at the slightest prod, can fail, sending us CRASHING TO OUR DEATHS._ Thought Ignitus.

Volteer lead Ignitus up, twenty stories, to the top of the dojo; to the windows of the Wind Sanctum; an area the dragons used for purposes Ignitus knew not. Volteer, yammering all the while, walked Ignitus to the window.

It dawned on him then just how long the wretched whelp had talked. The Sun was up; the Blue was now orange. Ignitus would, in roughly two hundred and sixty years time, recount to young Spyro that Volteer had actually talked for two straight hours.

Volteer landed, gracefully, on the window ledge. "Well, Ignitus, You want to learn to fly?"

Ignitus gritted his teeth.

"I know how to fly."

Volteer said, "Oh, there is absolutley no need whatsoever to feel shame-"

Ignitus roared. "I CAN FLY!"

Volteer said, unpreturbed, "You don't, there is clearly some sort of inhibiting factor, such as--" A grin, an irritating grin crossed his face.

Ignitus knew he knew. Ignitus looked out of the window; on the silver river beneath. That had to have been it; WHY did he have to look? Volteer, however, said, "Close your eyes, Young Ignitus." Ignitus let it pass that he was about twice the whelp's age.

"Feel the ancestors coursing through your body. In times of need, they will come to you, unlocking powers you never knew you had....Forget everything you ever thought you knew...and......HAVE A NICE FALL!" Ignitus felt the electricity jolt through his body, felt his feet leave the floor, and felt his wings instinctivley unfold as he fell out of the window, eyes still closed, falling, falling to his death.

But it didn't come.

Ignitus wondered if it already had, he just hadn't felt it. He opened his eye.

The silver river sat; thirty feet below him, flowing as usual.

Thud. Thud. Thud. He opened both his eyes, wide. The world was laid out beneath him, like a sandbox; and the pressure of the air seemed...gone.....and then he knew. The thudding was....

_Am I...flying?_ Why am I? And then he saw the water, and realized: This was terrifying. He shook, and instinct took over. He flapped, and flapped.

Volteer looked down, muttering to himself. "Quite possibly the worst flier I have ever seen; oh, he has instinct, yes, perhaps with some training up a competant soarer, but on my life He'll never teach anyone to fly."

Volteer leapt, much more gracefully than Ignitus, off the battlements, unfurling his wings and soaring, a taste of crisp ozone in his mouth. Time for lessons.

"Well, Ignitus, I do see you are quite at no easy whatsover like an Avalarian on a glider, put fine the point of it. Your technique is abysmal, and your wing muscles weak. Your instinct is quite strong."

_If this yellow bastard doesn't shut up, I'll swat him like a dragonfly._

Volteer continued. "We shall do some spiralling glides and barrel rolls thus, to strengthen your wings. Thus-!" Volteer flexed his wings upward, he sank, and then flipped.

Ignitus immitated. It burned like it had been bitten.

Four Hours passed in this manner, Volteer's voice corkscrewing to the center of Ignitus's brain. He was relieved when Volteer simply announced he would "Race him back to the temple." Volteer shot ahead of Ignitus like a bolt. Ignitus sped after him, roaring.

And then, all of a sudden, Volteer dropped out of the sky: Something had hit him; something big, and airborne: like a snake in the air!

It scented Ignitus, and spun around.

Ignitus recognized it at once: It was a Wyvern. Nearly seven feet long, it swung towards him with astonishing speed, and soon the two were engaged.

Ignitus's Skills were lacking; He had to kill. Fast. Seven inch long fangs pierced his right foreleg; unbearable pain and then limpness occured....A funny, painless feeling. He had no doubt he would giggle to his grave.

_CRACK! ZZZAAACK! _

A jet of lightning shot out of nowhere and hit the wyvern in the head. It fell forward, dead, and knocked Ignitus in the head.

He fell from the sky, spiralling toward the ground.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Illness

"Tell me where it hurts," said a rasping, cold voice.

"Throat," said Demmia.

Terrador sat in the corner of the temple room where the Venomspitter lived. He was so alarmed at the weakness in Demmia's voice. She almost never spoke; but she sounded so...weak.

Demmia inclined her head, allowing the Poison-Green Dragon to eye her jaw, and her throat.

Terrador's instinct was to charge at the Acid-Tounged beast and bite his neck; it seemed almost like he was allowing him to attack his master; who, while powerful, it could not be denied was incomprehensibly old! Her scales were dull, and her horns broken, her eyes were mud brown, and half closed.

Something about the Dragon examining her uneased Demmia. Darkness emminated from the dragon; and it could not be denied that an evil taint was upon the drake.

"Open your Mouth, Ma'am." came his cold rasp.

Terrador shuddered. Few things scared him.

He remembered, over a decade ago, sitting around a fire, listening to Gyicil and Red tell horror stories about the great Golems of the Undervally Ruins. Terrador always detoured around them. Curiosity was not a weakness of his, and the Ruins was one of his fears. The Venomspitter was another. It was said that his blood was black.

Demmia opened her mouth, exposing her teeth, the smallest of which were seven inches long.

"I ssssssssee." said the Venomspitter.

Terrador was aghast. Several green growths were present on the tounge. The effect was abhorrent.

The Venomspitter snapped up.

"Terrador. Fetch Gyisssssssil. Now." Terrador heard the urgency in the dragon's voice, but he did not want to leave this spawn of darkness alone with his master. He was very protective of her. "You heard me. GO!" commanded the Venomspitter.

Terrador groaned, and walked out the doorway. Or, at least, he tried to.

Terrador got stuck in the doorway, which was sixteen feet tall. Terrador struggled.

A horrible, burning feeling of darkness hit Terrador. He squirmed out, and he turned around, in pain, and saw right through his scales to his muscle, which was red, and irradiated. He stared at the Venomspitter.

"You're welcome. Now. GO."

Terrador walked out and started to fly, resisting the temptation to "Gale" the Dark Drake.

Terrador flew with urgency, cursing loudly in the air, yelling in fury, roaring in anger, batter by turbulance, and pushing his enourmous body to the limit, frustrated that he could not eke out one iota of greater speed. FASTER!

Terrador beat his wings, straining as lactic acid pumped into his veins as he flew towards Gyicil's caverns.

He was so distraced by his flight that he rammed straight into a rather small object, which yelled, in a distinct Upper Warfang accent, "What the bloody F--?" ( he probalby meant to say "Feather" which is dragon slang for poorly prepared food made in morally questionably Wind Dragon aeries). Terrador, on the other hand, being nearly five times as heavy as the shape, merely said, "Oof," catching the object lazily with his tail.

The Obejct, as it happened, was a far-flying, and, at the moment, vehemently swearing Cyril.

"Watch where you're going, great oaf, Hooligan, My Father and my nobility stand beside me, and believe you me I am more than capacle--"

Terrador brought Cyril to eye level.

"Shut up, Whelpling."

Cyril stopped blubbering at once.

"I want your father. Now."

Cyril nodded.

"H-He's in his study. Two Miles South." said Cyril, looking weary.

Terrador dropped Cyril and kept flying.

Six minutes later, he had arrived, and at any other time would have commented how tacky the cave was: Seven stories high in a mountain, with snow too well ground to be natural; arrangements of ice like spider legs shooting into the sky.

Don't gloat much, do we?

Terrador was out of breath, not helped by the altitude and the cold. Some dragons, he thought.

He jogged into the mouth of the cave, calling for its owner.

Gyicil slumped out, looking careworn; his eyes half closed, and bloodshot. Clearly, he's been up all night, and the limpness of his wings suggested he'd had a long flight.

"What is so urgent to invade my home uninvited, trampling around like a drunken Dreadwing?" asked Gyicil, in a tone that suggested massive headache. A thin layer of ice was present on his jaw.

"Venomspitter has requested your aid for one of his patients. Demmia," he added. Gyicil wasn't concerned with patients of a lesser station.

Relectantly, walking slowly, and with a great stretch, he slumped forward.

"I suppose I must," he said, coldly.

The two departed together.

In silence for an hour, they flew towards the Grotto in which Demmia was. Cyril was still out there, mumbling about Terrador's collision.

"Careless fool, Terrador. Couldn't you have paid the slightest attention to a child?"

Hmph, thought Terrador. Would you care if it wasn't yours?

Cyril tagged along with them, flying at his father's side. Gyicil didn't take any notice of him.

They arrived at the grotto, out of breath, and all very sore in the wings.

Venomspitter was waiting for them.

"It took you long enough. And why Is that here?" he said, refering to Cyril as though he was a slide rule.

"We came as fast as we could," said Gyicil, silencing Cyril's retort with a cold glare.

Venomspitter led them down inside to where Demmia was lying, looking very, very old, and very tired.

"Here." said Venomspitter.

"You need to mist over these Growths, I believe, and, to be sure, I suppose that you will also need to do something about her throat. Chill these areas, please. And...I Suppose that _this_-" he indicated Cyril. "May present come usefullness in getting me a snack."

Cyril and Terrador left, with Cyril abusing Venomspitter in troves.

Terrador rolled his head experimentally. He was developing a Migrane.


	6. Chapter 5

**NOTE: THE GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS AND LANGUAGE CONTENT OF THIS CHAPTER ALONE FORCED ME TO UP THE RATING TO T. NEEDLESS TO SAY, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.**

A Friend In Brooding

Cyril was in a very bad mood. _This thing may get me a snack._ How such a dragon as the disgraced, acid-cheeked demon could fail to address Cyril as was proper- Duke Cyril! Cyril clung to the title. but felt the resentment: the Venomspitter was living proof of what he had tried, time and again, to deny: He was nothing more than a piece of moss to the great ones. Cyril hung his head low, pride bruised, as he walked into the back of the cave. Get him a snack! What the hell did that thing eat, anyway? Hatchlings? Avalarians? Moles?

Cyril moved throught the grotto, sniffing obediantly with a burning blackness in his cheek, looking for anything that smelled apetizing. '

And then the telltale scent caught his snout.

_Apes._

Cyril ran towards the smell, reckless with bruised pride. He would get the damned guardian his snack, and prove his worth!

He saw a shadow in the cave. His vision gave him the advantage. It was watching him, crouched, believing Cyril could not see it.

Quick as a flash, Cyril fired an Ice Spike.

A wail pierced the cavern as it hit the ape squarely in the eye.

Cyril lunged, and felt a cold, sharp pain in his wing. A sword had stabbed clean through the membrane. He fired frost at the ape, who countered with--

A burst of wind, deflecting the blow!

The Ape swung bursts of energy at the young dragon, whose blood ran cold upon realizing what he was dealing with: This had to be Hurrikan, the Ape's Grand Warlock- No other ape could wield such energies.

Cyril squared up for the fight of his life. He shot a volley of ice spikes, and the ape rolled in close, so that Cyril saw him clearly for the first time: His coat was white, shaggy. He was relatively short; standing only five feet tall. His face was surprisingly gentle for an ape; it was smooth, and devoid of wrinkles, artfully curving to a snout. It would have almost looked handsome, had one green eye not been punctured, covering the entire countenance in blood. Cyril felt a stab of remorse upon seeing the ape- He couldn't be older than fourteen.

Cyril got a kick in the neck and a slash across his foreleg. Cyril roared, and froze the offending hand solid. He headbutted the ape, and shoved him to the ground, and pinned him.

Cyril glared down at him, looking at the empty socket he had made, and realized, in that instant, that he wouldn't be able to deal the blow, now that it had come to it.

The ape spoke.

"Go on! Go on! I am slain, dragon. Or do you wish to mock me?"

Cyril was taken aback at how high the voice was. It couldn't be older than he was; probably younger! Could he kill a child?

No, No, he had to kill it. It was a sorceror, it was dangerous, it was just a monster to be slaughtered.

"DO IT, COWARD!" Yelled the ape.

Cyril put his paw over the ape's neck.... The time was now...

And then Venomspitter and Terrador ran into their area, blasting it indescriminatley. The Earth shook, and rocks turned to only so much foul-smelling ooze where Venomspitter's blasts made contact. The Ape Kicked Cyril under the intersection of his back legs and tail, shoved him over, and pulled his arm around his neck.

"Stay Back!" yelled the Ape.

Terrador stopped dead. Venomspitter kept firing. Terrador slammed him against the wall.

The Ape leaned in, almost intimately, to Cyril's head.

"I see. You. You've never killed anyone before. Well, Mr. Pasifist, you're coming for a ride." he whispered, and in a rush of light, they were both gone.

********************************************

Cyril awoke, nearly six hours later, on a cold, rocky surface. Even for an Ice Dragon, this was most uncomfortable. He tried to open his eyes, and then found that he couldn't; the pain was almost unbearable still. And there was something jabbing into his leg. His wing hurt like hell, and felt numb, and buzzed unpleasantly. And... There was also something else there... Cyril moved his paw experimentally. It worked....Amazingly; thought he blood loss from his wing ought to have killed him, he was definatley alive. He twitced his eye open, and then immediatley shut it.

The grotesque sight of the ape's empty eye socket was facing him. Taking a few deep breaths, Cyril opened his eye again, and moved his leg.

A Green Gem, still concentrated in energy, fell from it. Another one fell, mostly absorbed, a red one, from his wing. Amazed at how the gems had so convineantly saved his life, he surveyed the ape in disgust. The thing was sleeping, curled up against him, one eye closed, young face covered in blood, he was unconcious, and shadows were under his eyes....

Eye.

Cyril looked at his open pouch and broken sword, and he saw, in the pouch, gems.

He understood.

Inceredible though it seemed, the very ape he had been on the verge of killing had saved his life, deliberatley, at the cost of his own health. Such an act commended a blood debt.

Staring at the wound he'd inflicted, Cyril knew that he must save the ape. That kind of injury, in addition to the energy he'd expended to get them here....

Cyril, painstakingly, got to his feet, shaking. His legs were as iron. He snaked his head into the pouch.

Nothing.

The red gem was useless...but the green was essentially full. Cyril instnatly broke off all contact from it. Cyril blew softly, hazing the socket- a grisly sight that made Cyril shake- with a light frost- and then, gingerly, picked up the green gem in his mouth between his teeth, and, carefully, and with a nauseating _squeaaaalsh_, inserted it into the socket.

Cyril stared at the ape, and, then, the green gem gone, sank, collapsing from lack of energy, onto the ground. He fought to stay awake- Honorable though the beast was, it was, after all, just that.

Cyril stayed at the Ape's side for an entire hour, staring at the creature that had so narrowly avoided being his first kill, and who had saved his life; just as he had spared its.

The green gem glowed ominously, like the gaze of an angry ghost; a lonely god filled with fire.

The ape stirred.

Cyril sprung into action.

"You. You're awake." He stated, unsure how to best communicate with the lesser creature.

The Ape grunted, tired, and in pain, as it pushed itself up, reconciling its sensitivities with a rapididty and fluidity that amazed Cyril.

"I did not expect survival." He said, quite plainly.

Cyril looked at him. "You saved my life. I...I was endebted."

The Ape spat at Cyril.

"Damn you! I saved your life to die in honor. You have beaten me, gored me, shamed me, spared me! I saved your damned scales to die in warm blood!" He invoked the dragon curse with such pride and venom, Cyril noted. "And I am indebted to your miserable hide again!" he spat, and then felt for his eye.

"Now, ape, see here--"

"GAUL!" spat the ape.

"I owe you the profound debt- If anything, we are squared. You meant to kill, I attacked you, You inflicted the wound, I gored you, I spared you, You saved me, and I saved you."

The Ape did the math in a second. "No. The honor is still in your favor."

Cyril rolled his eyes. "Then Take me home. Then We can be even, Gaul."

Gaul looked around, squinting around his gem eye, which he did not seem to question.

"Do you have any idea where you are, Whelpling?"

"Cyril."

"Whatever, Whelpling. Look Down."

Cyril looked down and saw, to his horror, that he was standing on a gigantic, spiky rock in the middle of a sea of spiralling color.

What was more, a gigantic _blob _seemed to float past them; a sort of jellyfish!

Cyril's stomach fell into queasy hell. He did know where he was.

Not only was he nowhere near home; he was nowhere near EARTH.

Gaul the Ape and Cyril the Dragon sat, depleted and greivously injured, in the middle of Convexity.

***************************************

"DAMNIT!" Yelled Terrador, slamming his claws against the wall in frustration.

"They're gone! I don't believe it." said Red, who had come, out of breath, so much so that he had stubbed his claw, from which blood was dripping.

Venomspitter sat, crossly, thinking hard.

"That spell was improperly cast. Yes, I think Gone is the right term. Come, I do believe the Elder can help us."

And then, the entire network of caverns shook.

"CAVE IN!" Yelled Terrador. The three dragons ran, full mell, as far as they could, dodging the stones as they fell.

They arrived at the mouth of the tunnel to a ghastly sight: Gyicil, knocked out cold by a giant boulder to the head, feebly stirring, and, next to him, the pale corpse of the Earth Guardain, Demmia.


End file.
